Incendio
by Bedelia
Summary: Percy and Hermione's relationship hits a snag, and she reflects on better times. Being married to their jobs leaves little opportunity for them to relish being married to each other. One-shot.


**Incendio**

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_**Disclaimer: **__I don't own anything related to Harry Potter. This is an amateur, non-profit work._

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Scratch, scratch, scratch. Murmur, sigh. Scratch, scratch.

Even before Hermione groggily opened her eyes, she knew exactly what she would see when she looked at the antique desk in the corner of her bedroom. Her husband was working again.

He was _always_ working.

The light from a single candle glinted off of his horn-rimmed glasses and cast a golden hue on his freckled skin. She had once made it a point to kiss every last one of those freckles, while he laughed and squirmed and half-heartedly complained about the tickling.

That seemed a very long time ago, now.

His quill dashed over the parchment with rapid, impatient strokes, though she knew without bothering to get up and peek over his shoulder that his handwriting would still be orderly and almost impossibly neat. The man was like a human typewriter.

From her vantage point on their bed, Hermione could see the wiry muscles of his back flex as he fought against the exhaustion that was obviously threatening to overwhelm him. Even at whatever ungodly hour it was, with no one around but his wife to see him, his posture remained impeccably straight and rigid.

Early in their marriage, Hermione had often joked that the Ministry was the other woman in their relationship. Somehow, it didn't seem so funny anymore.

She knew that it was as much her fault as it was his. They were _both _married to their jobs, which left little time for being married to each other. She wasn't even sure when they started drifting apart. When did it become a habit for them to live as though they were flatmates instead of lovers?

Long ago, Hermione would have called his name in a seductive voice and told him to come back to bed and keep her company. Long ago, he would have eagerly complied instead of insisting that he had to finish whatever blasted report it was that had him glued to the desk. When she'd realised that she had become the one who always initiated sex, she had stopped doing so entirely. It may have been childish to wait for him to make a move instead of just telling him about her worries, but she wanted to - _needed_ to - know that he still wanted her. She had to be sure that she was more to him than just a convenient piece of furniture in his carefully crafted life.

So far, he had failed her little test miserably. It had been thirty seven days, and he hadn't tried anything. Not even so much as sneaking up and groping her when she was bent over a book, the way he always used to. She wasn't even sure when he last bothered to kiss her hello.

They didn't fight. She often thought that it might be easier for them to work things out if they did. If they screamed and railed at one another about their obvious problems, then at least the issues would be out in the open instead of silently bubbling under the surface of their every interaction - the proverbial elephant in the room.

Hermione rolled over and stared at the long, wavering shadow that his industrious figure projected onto the far wall of the room. How had they arrived at this point? She closed her eyes, covered her ears, and lulled herself back to sleep by thinking of happier times - like their first kiss.

* * *

_Eight years earlier_

"Guys, I still don't see how this is going to work," Hermione said.

"It's simple, Granger," Fred assured her. "You ask Perce to help you retrieve your poor books from a tragic, snowy death. On the way, you inevitably start commiserating about the horrible injustice of being pranked by George and me. You bond, yadda yadda, and before you know it you're snogging and Mum is planning the wedding."

She wasn't sure how Fred and George found out about her little crush on Percy. They just_ knew_ somehow, in spite of the fact that she hadn't told a soul. Perhaps she hadn't been as subtle as she thought with the way she always sat next to him during Sunday dinners at the Burrow and the way she never failed to laugh at his few attempts at humour (even if she was sometimes the only one in the room who did so).

She had even less of a clue as to why the twins were trying to help her get together with him. It was very suspicious, especially given how fond they were of teasing their older brother.

The infatuation with Percy had taken her by surprise. She always knew that they had a lot in common, so it hadn't come as any great shock when they struck up a friendship shortly after she started working at the Ministry. But then her stomach started fluttering in a most unexpected way whenever he touched her hand or gave her one of his rare, fleeting hugs. She'd been completely floored by_ that _development.

It particularly affected her when he would adjust his glasses and shoot her a genuine smile that was devoid of his usual pompous air. He didn't drop his dignified act for just anyone, after all.

"But we've already bonded," Hermione protested. "We have lunch together every day at work, you know. It'd be much easier if I just_ told_ him how I feel."

"Hermione, do you really want to have that conversation at the Ministry, with all of your colleagues around?" George asked. "Wouldn't you rather it happen in the middle of the woods with the snow and the sunset and all of that other stupid romantic stuff?"

Fred slung an arm around her shoulders and leaned in as if he was telling her a secret. "Look at it this way," he said. "There's no harm done if this comes to nothing. You can always go with your silly little direct approach on Monday if this fails."

"Oh, fine," she said with an impatient huff. "I'll go get him. You two get lost."

Half an hour later, Hermione found herself trudging alongside Percy through the forest that laid just beyond the tiny cottage she rented in Ottery St Catchpole. He was pulling a sledge behind him to hold "her" books (in actuality, Fred and George had picked them up from a Muggle charity shop).

Loth as she was to admit it, George had been right about the romantic setting. The sky was streaked with vibrant pinks, oranges, and reds, and a few fairies had ventured onto the spindly branches of the naked trees. Their serene blue light made the thick blanket of snow on the ground sparkle like shattered glass. Everything was hushed and calm, the ordinary sounds of the forest muted by winter.

"Now, explain to me again what Fred and George did, exactly," Percy said, reaching out to brush away some snow that had fallen into Hermione's hair from a low-hanging tree limb.

"They cast some sort of charm that makes my books fly out of my hand whenever I try to touch them," she explained. "When I tried an _Accio_, it made one of them explode, so that option is out. I think it'll be okay if you pick the books up, though. I'm not sure where they are, but I think they flew in this direction."

Percy tutted. "I must apologise for my brothers, Hermione," he said, adopting the stiff, formal manner that was his trademark. "I would have a talk with them about tormenting you, if I thought it wouldn't just exacerbate things." He paused and placed a gentle hand on her elbow. "Are you certain you're not too cold? You can borrow my cloak if the warming charm and your jacket are insufficient."

"I'm fine, thanks." She smiled up at him. "And thank you for helping me with this."

"You're welcome. It's kind of nice out here, actually. Oh!" He stopped suddenly, bending to retrieve a book that was flung carelessly in a snowdrift. "Is this…yours?"

When Hermione caught a glimpse of the racy cover art, she quickly realised that the pinkness that had crept into Percy's cheeks had little to do with the frigid temperature. _The Passionate Pirate_ was most certainly _not_ a book she wanted him to think she owned.

Oh, those utter prats.

"No!" she said hastily. "Fred and George must have planted that because they knew I'd have to ask someone for help. They probably wanted to embarrass me."

"Ah," he said, his lips quirking up into the hint of a smile. "That does sound like them. Well, on the plus side, we must be…"

His voice trailed off as he stepped forward into a clearing. At least twenty books were scattered all over the ground, but what had made Percy go wide-eyed and slack-jawed was the garish display of fireworks that had abruptly sprung to life. A giant, blindingly pink heart hung above their heads, sparkling and shooting off rainbow coloured arrows in showers of flames. The arrows were soon followed by a conjured flock of pudgy cherubs who wore floaty white robes and simpering smiles.

"…close," Percy breathlessly finished his sentence.

"Kiss the lass already!" one of the cherubs said in a surprisingly deep, gruff tone. "Ye shandy drinkin' poof!" The others joined in with his shouts, alternating between teasing Percy and cheering him on.

Hermione wasn't sure what she wanted to do more: slink away and never be heard from again, or track down and maim Fred and George Weasley. She really should have known better than to go along with anything they had planned that involved Percy.

"Once again, I must apologise for my brothers," Percy said, his face tense and his expression unreadable. "They overheard a private conversation I was having with Ron, and…" He stopped abruptly, as though he had only just realised what he was saying. As his ears and cheeks flooded with a warm crimson colour, an excited wave of hope swelled inside Hermione's chest.

"What were you and Ron talking about?" she asked, as quietly as she could manage while still making herself audible over the raucous, off-colour taunts.

Percy swallowed. "You," he whispered. "Hermione, I-"

She cut off his words by grabbing his cloak with both hands, standing on her tiptoes, and pressing her lips firmly against his. He made a brief, muffled sound of surprise before placing his hands on her hips, pulling her closer, and kissing her back with far more enthusiasm than she would have expected of him.

"Oooh!" the cherubs howled in unison.

"Look at tha'!" one of them cried. "Didn't think he had it in him!"

"Slip 'er the tongue, lad!" another added.

Percy pulled away from her and grinned, looking uncharacteristically, adorably mussed. "I really must apologise for my brothers, yet again," he said.

Hermione just laughed and kissed him once more in response, too caught up in the addictive sensation of his lips and tongue moving against her own to care what any nosy little cherubs had to say about it.

* * *

_Present Day_

The misty, faint light of dawn filtered through the edges of the bedroom curtains, illuminating her sleeping husband's naked back. Hermione lifted a finger to lightly trace the lines of the invented constellations she had mapped out using his freckles, but he didn't stir. Percy could sleep through nearly anything. She supposed it was a side effect of having a bedroom on the same floor as the twins for so many years.

Knowing she would be unable to fall back asleep herself, she climbed out of bed and wandered into the bathroom for a quick shower. As she stepped under the nearly scalding spray of water, Hermione thought about the one thing that used to wake Percy without fail: reaching out in his sleep to hold his wife and finding the bed empty.

Back then, he would follow her into the bathroom, claiming that it would conserve water if they both showered at the same time. She didn't see how that was possibly the case, since it took at least three times as long for her to bathe when Percy was the one lathering her body, but she wasn't about to complain - even if he_ did_ prefer to set the water to a temperature that made her teeth chatter. He always made up for it.

Every time he joined her, she would eventually find herself pressed between the cool tiles and his warm, lanky body. His hands would urgently hitch her legs around his hips, and he would proceed to make them both pleasantly late for work. Not many people would call Percy passionate by any stretch of the imagination, but Hermione had certainly always appreciated his meticulous attention to detail when it came to that area of their life together.

No extended, erotic bathing for her today. Hermione finished her shower - alone - in five minutes flat. After throwing her hair into a bun without bothering to cast a drying charm, she dressed in some plain, grey work robes and headed for the office.

The perilously high stack of files that she left for herself the night before appeared to have grown somehow. Hermione could have sworn that at least twenty more appeared in the time it took her to make a cup of coffee and find a day-old doughnut for breakfast. No sooner had she touched the topmost file than a familiar male voice sounded unexpectedly from behind her.

"I realised something this morning," he said.

Hermione shrieked and threw her hands up in surprise, knocking over the mountain on her desk. Hundreds of white bits of parchment floated gently around them like large, rectangular snowflakes. Percy sent them back into an orderly pile with a casual wave of his wand. After a moment of deliberation, he shoved them off of the desk and into the rubbish bin with a frown and a satisfied grunt.

"Percy, what are you-"

"Aren't you going to ask me what I realised?" he interrupted, moving closer to her.

Hermione laughed and shook her head in confusion. "What did you realise?"

"I miss my wife," he whispered in a way that made her stomach flip-flop. He cupped her face in both hands before giving her an amused grin. "So much so that I set fire to my desk. It's now a pile of ash."

"Your desk at home?"

"Yes. A quick_ Incendio_, and it was-"

"Percy! That desk was from 1805! It-"

He put an end to her scolding by kissing her fiercely, as if they hadn't seen one another in years. And, in many ways, she supposed they hadn't.

"Let's go away somewhere," he murmured against her lips. "For at least a month."

Hermione blinked at him in mild shock. "What about work?"

"_Bugger_ work." His voice was low, rumbling, and had a decidedly un-Percyish fire. She had never heard him talk like this. Such crude terms were much more suited to his brothers. Or his sister, for that matter.

"I burned my desk because I no longer want to take work home with me," he continued. "And I really would prefer it if neither of us did any overtime unless it's absolutely necessary. We should head back home immediately, since it's Saturday. I have been neglecting my husbandly duties, and I intend to spend the day rectifying that. On every surface in the house, if possible." He paused to kiss her again, delving his tongue into her mouth and holding her so tightly that she felt giddy and out of breath. "There are more important things in life than a career," he added in a fervent whisper.

"What was written on the knickers I wore underneath my wedding dress?" she asked, narrowing her eyes in suspicion.

Percy laughed. "Something about the sexual prowess of prefects, I think. I don't remember the exact words, darling. I had _other _things on my mind by the time I saw them."

"Just checking."

She never thought she would hear her husband say that there was anything more important than his job. Polyjuice had seemed like the most logical explanation.

"So, what do you say?" he asked, trailing his mouth and fingers over her collarbone and sending delightful shivers through her body. "Do you want to go away with me?"

Hermione didn't even have to think about her answer.

"Of course."

Hands intertwined, he led her to the floo and rushed the two of them home. She knew that it would be a struggle for them to not slip back into old habits - they were both confirmed workaholics, after all. As he started slowly undressing her, his hands trembling slightly, she caught a glimpse of the sooty heap that was once his desk. The sight filled her with an intensely warm sort of hope. It was proof that he _did_ want her - that she was much more to him than just a convenience.

_Incendio_ was officially her new favourite spell.

_The End_


End file.
